


Antidote

by Katrina726



Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14142090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katrina726/pseuds/Katrina726
Summary: Bruce Wayne struggles to confront the legacy cemented in “City of Light”. Decisive, compassionate, and forgiving, internal conflict renders him unable to face intimate and symbol Harvey Dent three months after the somber showdown that resulted in hospitalization and a heart-wrenching farewell. Likewise, a pervasive, nameless spirit has infiltrated the ranks of Arkham, straining against a troubled Harvey’s cell: hope.





	Antidote

Bruce was roused out of dream by a firm hand, his alarm grating just inches from his face. Groaning, he forced his injured body to a sitting position, ignoring the obnoxious cacophony. It amplified the thunder jolting within his mind, conjuring images from the preceding night.

Despite his ill-temperament, knowingly and with a hint of a smile, he turned himself towards his ever-welcomed intruder: Alfred. His familiar face, warm yet stern, was creased in blatant distress.

“I cannot imagine it well that you sleep through – “. He paused, seeking the ideal word and settling finally on a disgusted ‘that’.

“Don’t worry, Alfred. I’m just compensating for the last – what year is it?” The battered billionaire quipped.

His phone ceased its cries without intervention. Small miracles.

“I don’t suppose losing an ear improves the matter. Have you consulted your doctor recently?”

“My hearing’s fine.” Whereas he generally spoke to quell Alfred’s fears, he was especially careful to carry himself with a smug assuredness; it seemed as if Alfred hadn’t recovered from his forced escapade with Lady Arkham, despite the well-being he strains to convey.

A quick glance communicated the lack of assurance in his words. “Well…You appear pale, and your forehead is plastered with sweat. Perhaps you need rest?”

“No, no, no. I’m fine. Everything’s healing smoothly.” His hand instinctually lowered to gauge the stiches decorating his left side. Just two days before, a bullet from a common thug penetrated his armor. To say it ached wasn’t sufficient, but he was able to handle himself well enough on patrol last night. No liability, thankfully.

He shifted his gaze downwards. “Uh, listen. I know this isn’t my MO, but I need to talk through something.”

Alfred had drifted about the room, but with Bruce’s words, he halted. “Oh? Of course. No man can keep everything bottled inside.”

Bruce was thankful for Al’s casual response. “He – Harvey.” He managed, struggling with the name; it itself conjured seas of conflicting thought. “There were multiple times he tried to confide in me before things escalated. I had my arms twisted in too many directions to count and I just couldn’t. Didn’t.”

“It’s not easy living through two characters. You must compromise what each identity values.”

He concealed a wince. Emotions should never be reduced to clinical calculations. It took a fair level of dissociation for him to view the world outside of his subjective focus, but thrust into a definitive moment, he felt a hurricane ravaging within, compromising the responsibilities he paved for himself. His decisions, in neglectful desperation, had become narrow-mindedly focused on preserving Harvey’s well-being, be him Batman or Bruce Wayne, be it for Gotham or for friendship. But in the end, his humanity had lost in the balance, made a secondary concern.

“I hope to think I’m above those limitations, that I can find a way to do the best for everyone, especially the people I care about. There have been too many close calls I failed to prevent. And what those failures led to…” The casualties were indescribable.

“You stopped at nothing to help Mr. Dent, and you sacrificed everything to save me from danger, your life nearly the currency!”

“Vicki – Victoria – She nearly killed you, Alfred. Because of me, because of my father. I was so close to losing you!”

_The woman was thrust against the figure, striking its façade as she had been thrashed by each of life’s distinct stages. Arms splayed, a crucifixion. Nothing was sacred. Her life was claimed by the energy that revived her years before, when she first faced sin – just a young girl: Hate._

_She, his fallen dichotomy, lacked the compassionate hand of the man that lay, disoriented, against the cold floor of the crumbling catacombs. Though all Bruce could glimpse was that the beacon’s light was fading fast. A redness blurred his vision, a desperation clouded his thoughts. But he found him, reached him, supported his weight._

_Alfred’s breath was distinct. Bruce felt it guiding him. It was nearly extinguished, his hand the fire, her force the poker._

_She rather face death than face him._

_The uncertain journey to an uncertain refuge. Whether Alfred leaned upon him or him upon Alfred became an unknown. Lingering panic. Thundering remorse. A sick relief._

_“Without you, none of this would have worked.”_

Bruce heaved, pausing. “I’m sorry. I’m making you relive this. This isn’t what I meant to say – unless you need to hear it.”

“I…No need for apologies, Bruce. Please, tell me what’s on your mind.”

The tired man massaged his temples, recalling with vivid detail the sleep he had escaped. _A gleaming shard drenched in crimson. Red staining the skin, caressing the hands. The howl. An adult form, broad and powerful, now curled, rocking as a child. Feeble, shrinking within itself. Sobs now clawing at his ears, desperate. The room an eternal image, white, pristine, and bare - the paradise of a stolen life._

“Bruce!” His head jerked upwards.

“I failed Harvey, Alfred.”

“Now, Bruce – “

“It’s undeniable!” he shouted. “Everywhere I turn I see I’m hurting the ones I need to protect the most. I’m the target on their back, and it sickens me!”

“Harvey’s power was the poison, not your relationship. It brought him…unwanted attention. Undeserved attention.”

His voice lowered. “I promised I wouldn’t abandon him. When he spoke to me, I pushed him away into the hands of strangers ‘to rush off to duty’. I allowed him to believe I cared so little as to betray him. Now, I waved money into a few faces, had him shipped away, and haven’t looked back. At least in his eyes.”

“If my memory hasn’t failed me, you saved his life twice from the Children of Arkham, remained loyal without merit, and invested in the most proficient care the state would permit. Not to mention that you spoke to him as a friend even in his darkest hour. Twice a week you inquire of his progress, oversee his treatment. Hardly abandonment. Harvey’s condition is not a product of your failure.”

“I know I wasn’t molding his fate in my hands, but I had an influence.”

“An influence of unwavering support.”

Bruce dodged the response. “The situation reminded me how much I value Harvey, both as a person and a friend.”

_Falling asleep, drunk and light, hearty laughter and dreams intertwining to thrum softly in his ears. Alfred’s crude stitching interrupted by the buzz of his phone, a voice securing him to the streets below, the humanity amid the crime and restless bustle. Evenings around the pool table, smooth jazz crooning, Alfred and Harvey and Bruce lounging casually, each remark less professional than the last. The proud voice, overlooked yet strong, carrying the theme of the uncertain crowd: hope. Solemn eyes imploring not just for his sway or funds, but to the truth beneath the impossible image. Friend._

“It’s fortunate you could have that experience, despite where we sit now. You are human.”

“I’m grateful I could meet him,” He confessed. “- though I never expected for us to grow close. You mean everything to me, but you of all people know in that world, I don’t have many – Hell, any relationships. There are just too many variables to consider.”

“Batman adds a layer of secrecy to any relationship, as he does responsibility. You understand that. But he doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your life entirely.”

_Dark eyes focus away from his, smirk collapsing to a near frown. No shadow veils the truth, no words stifle the closeness and dread and resentment strangling each breath._

_“They’ve all got something to hide, Bruce. Every last one of them.”_

_“Not everyone.” He shielded his face against the biting wind of each word._

_Everyone._

Bruce glared. “If I can do it only half way, then why participate at all? Why not dedicate my time only where it’s most valuable?”

Alfred shook his head sadly. “I believe and hope you can correct those questions yourself.”

“Batman is a symbol, and I’m his tool. Bruce Wayne is a resource, and I’m his guidance.”

“Bruce – You give everything to this city. If you can’t see the value of being human, please see that without who you are at your core, Batman and Wayne alike would be menacing figures!”

Bruce brushed his fingers though his hair with a sigh. “I appreciate the words Al, but this isn’t about self-esteem. I’m only venting.”

“Yes, well ‘venting’ is powered, on some level, by what you believe to be true.”

“If I’m to be honest, I don’t know what I believe. I’ve had plenty of time to reflect on…events, but nothing feels right.”

Everything he believed in had been twisted, manipulated. Gotham would never accept a reformed Harvey. Harvey could strain against his sentence, thread together the frayed edges of his psyche – though to what end? What would recovery mean for a man like him? Harvey would remain too crippled to overcome his remorse and stand alongside Bruce, too anguished and grief-stricken to stand beside the city he loves with a crushing purity. He sacrificed everything, and this fate befalls him!

He could not conjure blame for his old friend. The loss of control - that was not a decision, not a facet of his character. It was just a trademark of a cruel world. Nonetheless, a hint of anger lingered, at moments painting over his mental image of Harvey – an explosion, gunshots, vengeful threats. It was disgusting.

“And I’m terribly sorry I contributed.” Alfred breathed. “The world and the people you admired and cared for – they turned out to be different than you imagined, I know. Still…there’s still trust to be found.”

“I understand why you made that choice. We’ve overcome that. We’re family, Al.”

Bruce looked up to see Alfred smiling somberly. His stomach lurched.

Bruce continued. “I can see where the compass is leading me, but I don’t know where I’m moving forward. I do my work and I’m sensing change, but it feels like we’re in a standstill.”

“Well,” Alfred began, pointlessly adjusting his glasses. “Do you feel there’s something else you should be attending to? Perhaps something you haven’t yet?”

He always knew.

“I haven’t spoken to Harvey since…our last moments together.”

“Do you believe it would be best to visit him?”

Bruce’s thoughts surged. Would his presence be a trigger? Could Harvey even stand to look him in the eyes? What could be said? What is being said by Bruce’s silence? Harvey, caged for months, isolated, each insecurity confirmed with a strike to the heart – this is Bruce’s responsibility. Words can heal. Harvey needs to know that he’s cared for, irrevocably, that he’ll never find himself abandoned. A heartfelt message can’t be delivered at the expense of his health. His health is all that matters. Doing this for personal relief is selfish. What would Bruce see as he looked upon his old friend? Is the only true factor fear - cold, self-seeking fear?

“I don’t know.” He admitted.

Alfred’s voice quieted to a gentle strength. “This is hard to confront, Bruce. I believe Harvey understands, after the time that’s passed. I believe Harvey is buried by the guilt of his…unintentional decisions. He may not respond to you the way you would like. Things have changed, after all. But he could more than appreciate you reaching out to him. This is a choice you must weigh yourself, a hard one. I’m sure you’ll do what’s right, whatever that may mean.”

“Thank you. Really.” With the guiding words, the web within his mind twisted further, bouncing from thought to thought, capturing finally the hint of a solution.

Brushing lint from his shorts, he rose from the edge of his mattress. The trace of a smile lined his face.

Alfred watched him, wary. “What are you thinking?”

“I think – “His response was overpowered by the alarm. “There’s only once choice that feels right, for now.” He pressed dismiss, turning to Alfred.

“Oh?”

“Harvey needs to know that he isn’t forgotten.”

“With you as a friend, that should be clear as day.”

_________________________________________________________________

A woman donned in white pounded down the narrow corridor, shoes clacking in a constant rhythm. Curses and plaintive cries reverberated from cell to cell, to her no less ambient than droplets of rain or the hum of a light. She was not clinical; her heart extended empathy and patience to all, though personal affinity admittedly struck just a few.The man she sought was one of its select recipients.

Orderlies, doctors, and patients alike regarded Harvey Dent with grave animosity. Given his trespasses against the city and lapses of psychotic aggression, the stance was hardly questionable. And being a public figure, of course there was the assumption that he was treated with superior tact; truthfully, Arkham did not discriminate in its negligence; the facility was not a place to heal, but a place to be subdued to the faintest of whimpers. No one was exempt.

The dilapidation of both its structure and staff posed as her call. She loathed it, but “better me than the rest”, she always quipped, only somewhat arrogant. Arkham was the heart of the city’s ails, and with opportunists disguised as doctors, she felt no grievances would otherwise be settled. A nice, “cheerful” hospital is hardly wanting for an honest psychiatrist, anyway.

Increased funding, media coverage, and improved staff nonetheless had made an impact – like a penny against the ocean. Still, something trumps nothing.

She continued with her message. “315, 314, 313…” she breathed, counting each iron-rimmed cell. She settled in front of her destination, Room 307, pausing before announcing herself.

Despite earning her favor, the woman often dreaded contact with Mr. Dent. Foremost, he approached each session with a childlike earnestness, a near desperation to please. Such a willingness to improve was rare and truly hardened the direness of his prognosis. Conversely, he often appeared lifeless in his reticence, visibly cloaked by oppressive thoughts – perhaps deemed unworthy of correction. Flashes of clarity produced the mind he once occupied: polite, engaging, intelligent, and full of hope. It was this element of her livelihood that pervaded moments of rest or recreation: illness discriminated even less than this so-called “rehabilitation center”.

Nonetheless, her left hand clutched hope in the form of a letter; it posed as the reminder that those within these walls were material, that they occupied this world, existed still within someone’s heart; they were not specters.

Though she could enter a room as duty pleased, she felt it important to afford patients the small luxury (or façade) of privacy and autonomy.

“Mr. Dent?” She chirped tentatively, wrapping her knuckles against the cold metal.

A brief pause, slight shuffling. “Yes ma’am?” Harvey’s face appeared through the bars, dark with shadow. His eyelids seemed under a great burden, the whites beneath tainted a deep crimson.

“I would like to speak with you. You’ve received a letter.”

His eyes widened. “Of course, please, come in!”

She pressed the silver key within the lock, turning sharply. She was satisfied by his responsiveness, though the shudder of his frame did not elude her scrutiny.

“Thank you.” She said, crossing the threshold. Without break, she continued, noting Harvey’s tense posture and flickering gaze. “Now, I understand this is a personal matter. I’m giving you the choice to address this as you feel most comfortable.”

“My decision…” He parroted.

“Yes, one I believe you can find internally, and certainly, with help as needed.”

“Who sent this to me?”

“Well”, she began. How to explain without erupting suspicion or offense? Bruce Wayne, proprietor of the hospital’s fortune, had humbly staggered in, sporting a message for one named “friend”. Always silently invested, she regarded his bold presence with a hesitant excitement; this may prove the stepping stone to a small breakthrough. Bruce was clearly a difficult topic to breach and most certainly a poignant one. She felt a fondness for the man; he seemed quite different than the media portrayed.

“They requested to remain anonymous, though had “ascertained you would understand”. Security ensured the sender and material were sound.”

“Oh.” Tall and broad, his frail figure retracted.

“Oh?” She repeated.

“I guess when I imagined someone contacting me, we always found each other face to face.”

“You’ve given this thought. Would you prefer it that way?”

“Yes – I don’t know. It would feel more real, maybe. But this is less difficult to confront.”

“Why do you feel that is?”

“Well, I just tear the paper and the memory with it,” he replied, half-laughing, half-trembling.

“Harvey, do you truly feel that’s a valid outlook?”

“It has to be at least half of a valid point.” Her eyebrow piqued, concealing amusement with sternness. “But seriously, how I react won’t affect anyone else. Everything that happened is already set in stone – or ink. And – Well, I’m ashamed to be seen like this. I don’t want to bring others pain.”

And with one strike of the clock, all semblance of reassurance collapsed.

With a soft wail, his fists shot against his skull, pushing as if to ward off a strong evil. Spinning rapidly, he thrashed his face against the tiled wall. “Oh God, please stop,” he pleaded.

Reflexively, the petite woman clasped her patient’s arm. “You’re in a safe environment…Remain present...” She directed him from the hard surface. “The perception of that voice is warped, untrue.”

“I should acknowledge it.” A sharp wince. “And then, correct it.” He staggered from side to side, nodding dazedly. “Yes, yes, yes,” he whispered.

“You’re carrying yourself with strength and strategy.”

“No, no. This isn’t – Yes. Yes!” The fists dropped from his temples. The line of his mouth loosened into a sneer.

“I know how you really feel, doctor.”

With a gravelly chuckle, he advanced towards his physician. “We see what you put in those reports. You pump our veins with poison to hide what we truly are!”

Her feet stubbornly rooted themselves to the floor. “Never. Those medications help you and others manage their symptoms.”

“Our true nature isn’t a symptom of a disease.”

“They aren’t masking who you are. They help you live as your true self.” Her words were cool, deliberate. “Doctors care about their patients.”

A dry chortle sent a gust of air against her face. “Oh, so naïve…Not all of them do.” He drifted towards the far wall. “Not. All.”

“Yes, well I do, and those who don’t…We’ll find them.” Her fingers curled around the radio in her pocket. “I care about you, Harvey.”

His spine straightened stiffly, unnaturally. A moment of time crept imperceptibly as his stillness resisted even breath.

“You don’t get to say that,” he heaved, voice softened, diffident. “I don’t want – “. A slight growl echoed into a cry, and as he whirled towards her, his face appeared contorted by a supernatural rage.

“Speaking through a forked tongue. Be careful, or I may have to take a blade to yours.”

“I don’t believe – “. A rough hand clenched her wrist, digging as a vice.

Horror and twisted enchantment capitulated her voice to his words. “They think they have to lie to Harvey, that he’s too stupid and weak to see the truth. Like a child cowering from each fist against his mother, from the metallic sheen of a mangled, bloody belt. He can see the bars that cage him, the hatred that keeps him locked within this shrinking box, not allowed even a safety pin for fear he’ll stab himself in the eye. Bloody legal mess.”

His grasp fell limp, marring her skin a deep purple. “Oh, God. I hurt you!” He stumbled away from her. “Please, tell me you’re okay! Can you move your hand? Did I break it?”

“It’s only a small bruise, Harvey. We can’t hide or overlook it, but it’s not reason to – “

“Sedatives! I need sedatives. You could find me some. Just enough to sleep, to never wake up!” Pacing frantically, his body convulsed as a stray amidst the downpour.

“I would never allow you to overdose!”

“Then please, I need restrained! I’m at the center of the hurricane. Any moment the storm will subdue me again. Please. I’m sorry!”

“Hey, hey. Just slow down and breathe. I can judge whether that kind of force is needed. You’re in control.”

Shakily he inhaled, each exhale more akin to a cry than proper breathing. “Okay, okay. I’m okay.”

“Some of what you said was worrying, I won’t lie to you. But that’s all that concerns me now.”

“Next time I might go farther, strike harder. I don’t trust myself to be around you, after you’ve been so kind. You’re a good person.”

“I have faith in your character. You’re here for treatment, not to be locked up.”

“Maybe that would be for the best.”

“If that’s so, I might as well surrender my license.” Her lips formed a bittersweet smile.

“I failed you. I couldn’t even make it a week without throwing a psychotic tantrum.”

“Progress, Harvey. I’m so proud of what you accomplished in those days. And, now, we’ll do what we can from these experiences: learn and apply.” She struggled to maintain an authoritative tone.

“I hope so”. His evasive eyes implored hers. “I’m sorry anyway.”

“I appreciate your conscientiousness. I’ll need to leave now to reschedule a session with you today. I’ll call in George – the nice, older orderly with the light blue glasses – in the meantime. We need to speak through what triggered you, and challenge this – “. She gestured towards the envelope that currently held Harvey’s gaze. “Later. Is that agreeable to you?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yes. Thank you for everything, doctor.”

She bowed slightly and lingered in the corner to contact George. Following a brief banter, she forced the phone back into her uniform. Returning towards the reaches of the dim, fuzzy light to regard her resigned patient, she failed to stifle a sigh. His eyes were drawn with such familiar allure to the hard flooring.

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered. “I know I’m just regurgitating the same words, but there are people in this hospital that have a chance, yet you’re wasting your time on me.”

She suddenly felt like knocking a hole through the tiling herself. “Listen, because I want to speak to you. Really speak to you.” She waited as an agonizing silence forced his eyes to hers.

“Life hasn’t been kind to you. You’ve tackled more than most can understand yet managed to reach more success than many can dream of. That’s because you’re a fighter, Harvey. I believe you’ll overcome today, and the next day, and the next. Each day, each second, it’ll feel like a grueling battle, but you’re a fighter, and you’ll make it through. I see how you carry yourself in these moments, like you’re broken. It brings me so much pain to see. You haven’t lost the fire; you’re trying to beat it out yourself because you don’t feel you deserve a chance at life, and that’s exactly what those flames are going to give you: hope. Please, I know you struggle with this idea of recovery, but even if it feels impossible, there are people that care for you, that are rooting for you, and I’m carrying evidence right here! I know if you can’t do it for yourself, you can do it for the people around you. I believe in you, Harvey.”

A pang against the iron door sent a rumble throughout the small cell. She jumped. “I hope to see you within the hour,” she said quickly. “Take care.”

“You too.” He faltered, watching her nervously welcome the orderly before disappearing into the maze of Arkham. Her coat seemed to emanate a pale aura before it fled from his empty home.

For all the compassionate woman inspired, he hoped she would never return.

_______________________________________________________________________

Harvey cradled the letter as if it were a failing dove, tracing his fingers along its plain expanse. He feared that with less delicacy it would crumble into snow.

Anxiety stabbed in his chest, quelled suddenly by a morbid thought: perhaps it contained a death threat, the cry of one he had condemned to mourning. Perhaps the process of forming the hateful words had welcomed a brief catharsis, a small muse for the victim’s grief. Justice lies only in burdening the loss of those he has killed in flesh and in spirit. It would be a small comfort to those he’s wronged, knowing he suffers. He ached to be condemned a murderer, a monster. He ached to be forgotten.

He was dizzied by yesterday’s words. At the mercy of an encouraging doctor and vengeful casualties, a supporter may tip the silver skills in unimaginable ways. The thought of a person on the outside, thinking of him, hoping for him – it was revolting. He could scarcely imagine their disappointment, their tired waiting. He couldn’t fix himself. Collapse after collapse he felt himself drifting further. It would be so easy to disappear.

It would be so easy to be abandoned. The loneliness stung him with a numbness. He couldn’t fail who didn’t care.

Pandora’s box. He could destroy it, return it unopened.

But what if by some misguided miracle, she was right? Someone had sacrificed their time to create a story only for his eyes. He couldn’t ignore that.

Slowly, his fingers released the paper from its seal, pulling out the small, ivory card. His heart lurched as he turned it over, revealing three words scribed in large, bold calligraphy: “You’re not alone”. His breath caught in his throat.

“No! That’s not right.”

His eyes were driven to read the message scrawled beneath.

_Day after day, I wish I could see you again. I miss our conversations. I miss your voice. I miss having you in my life. You mean more to me than I’ve ever been able to say, more than I may deserve, and more than I can express even on paper. I need to rectify my mistakes for you, need to see you, however you may be. I don’t care what state you’re in; I just care that you’re Harvey. I just care that you’re my friend. I hope you’ll accept me, but I want what you need. I want to be the support I didn’t allow you before. I’ll never forget you._

As he searched for the signature, he found his vision blurred by tears.

                                     _Signed, a friend._

Harvey smiled softly.


End file.
